seduction
by liefdewint
Summary: John's in love with Sherlock, but he doubts if Sherlock feels the same way, so he going to make him fall in love with him. Title says how. Slash m/m don't like, don't read. Rating may go up. I don't own anything
1. 1 prologue

It was a Friday evening, or night. John Watson and Greg Lestrade were in a pub complaining to each other about one Sherlock Holmes. And as there is no way you could go to a pub without drinking, they had long forgotten about time.

"Now," the gray-haired detective inspector said, "When are you going to give some details about your relationship with Sherlock. I've heard you complaining about him all night, but there must be something good as well. Why else would you stay?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'm not gay! And I'm most definitely not in a relationship with Sherlock!" John growled. "How many times do I have to repeat myself before anyone believes me? Why can't you listen when I say that I'm not in love with him and he's not in love with me? We're friends, and that's hard enough sometimes."

Placing his drink on the bar, Greg sat still. "I'm sorry. I should have known that. After all who would _want _to be together with Sherlock?" He chuckled, looking over to John. "He's rude, selfish; too thin to be healthy. He doesn't have any social skills and won't even pretend he isn't any of the aforementioned things. You're right, of course you're not together; there is nothing loveable about him."

"Now, wait just a minute." John spoke loudly. The beer made it so much easier to defend his best friend; even if his speech was a little slurred. "He isn't selfish at all. He helps you, doesn't he? And so what if he only does it because he likes it? He still h-helps. He could have just chosen to become a criminal mastermind, like Moriarty, but he chose to be on our side. That's _something_ you should be very grateful for! And he's only rude to people who deserve it. If you would all be a little more tolerant, he wouldn't have to be like that! But you all chose to laugh at him or snarl at him for every move he makes. Call someone a freak often enough and they start to believe it and act like it!

"And who cares that he hasn't been blessed with amazing social skills. We all have faults, don't we? People always say that you should take someone as they are. So why doesn't it count for Sherlock? _I_ took the time to really get to know him and you know what? I've found him to be the most beautiful and loveable person I know. I couldn't stand it to be separated with him ever again. He is my gravity to realism!"

John ended his speech, gasping for air, but proud of his words. That is, until he saw Greg laughing over his pint. "What?" John asked in indignation.

"You still claim you're not in love with him?" Lestrade began, looking over at the doctor with warm, but amused eyes.

"…Yes." John said warily.

"Even though you find him the most beautiful and loveable person in the entire world?"

Blinking, the doctor started. "Y-yes."

"And you never want to be separated with him ever again."

"Yes?"

"He's your gravity to realism?" Greg snorted out loud, looking Doctor Watson up and down.

John's eyes narrowed. "Oh, shut up."

"If you admit you're secretly in love with Sherlock." The inspector shot back, his eyes practically sparkling with mirth. After a long, drawn out pause, the doctor sat back in his seat, his fingers milling over the handle of his pint.

He sighed, his shoulders dropping. "…Fine. So I may have a little crush on him." He admitted reluctantly. "But so what? It's not like he's ever going to feel the same way about me."

Greg smiled mischievously. He was pretty good at his own deductions, if he did say so himself. He had known this was going on in John since…a little after he'd first met the bloke actually. He placed an elbow on the table, looking over at the doctor. "You never know. You could always make him fall in love with you."

"What do you mean?"

"You know, seduce him." He said simply, as if it was nothing.

John spitted out the sip of beer he had just taken. "Excuse me?"

"You know, flirt with him and stuff."

John Watson's mouth dropped open and he looked at the man in shock, shaking his head. He could _not _believe Greg had just suggested that. "He would know what I was doing, while I was even thinking whether or not I would be doing it!"

Rolling his eyes, the inspector took a sip of his own beer, waving a hand. "I bet he won't notice it until someone tells him what you're doing. He will of course notice the changes, but he won't be able to make one and one two."

"Really?" John said in amusement, raising his eyebrows. "You're going to make a bet out of Sherlock's reaction if I would seduce him, when I'm not even _going_ to do it?"

"Sure you are." He replied instantly, having expected the answer. "Not that the idea there may be hope, has settled in your head, you're not going to be able to forget about it until you try. No way are you going to let this chance of happiness slip."

Once again, John fell silent. Then he spoke. "You're right," John sighed "I just wished you weren't."

Lestrade's smile expanded to a grin, and he hit the table with his hand as he stood. "That's the price you'll have to pay. Good luck mate." And with a final pet on John's back, Greg dropped his money on the bar and left, leaving John able to make his plan.


	2. 2 showing interest

John knew that he had to take it slow.

If he would start flirting with Sherlock like he had done with his previous girlfriends, Sherlock would not only notice what he was doing (and even if John hoped Lestrade would win the bet, he doubted it) he would ask John to move out, most likely because he couldn't deal with John being all dull and boring. Or…even more so than he was normally at any rate.

That's why he made a plan. He didn't know how long the plan would take; it all depended on how Sherlock would react to each phase. But it was a plan never the less.

It was a food plan too: within 8 steps he and Sherlock would be together. He called it: _Seducing Sherlock Holmes Without Him Noticing It And Then Living Happily Ever After. _

Or for short: _SSHWHNIATLHEA._

Okay the plan needed another name, but that could come later. Now he would start with step one: showing interest.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John saw Sherlock's eyes move rapidly, wondering what he was doing wrong. John smiled; it was quiet endearing to see, and as apparently he was in love with the man supposed he could find it endearing.

Finally Sherlock answered. "An experiment. Even for your little brain, it should be obvious."

"I know that you're doing an experiment, but I was wondering why you are doing an experiment."

Sherlock looked surprised up. Whether it was because John showed interest or that John assumed that there was a purpose for the experiment wasn't clear. "I…uhm, I'm trying to look if I can change the colour of an eye by using certain chemicals, paint and hair colouring. I inject them in the iris and look what happens."

"Any luck so far?"

Again a surprised look.

John started to wonder if he wasn't overdoing it. It seemed small enough to start with, but after all it was Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. Probably nobody ever asked him what he was doing. As long as he didn't blow up anything, he was rather quiet while experimenting. It could be a relief for some, John assumed.

"With most burning chemicals I can change blue into white?" He seemed to question, looking at John warily. He was suspicious to say the least. He couldn't quite fathom what was going on…John never took an interest in his work, unless it was for a case that he was involved with. He never paid any attention much to whatever he did to cure his boredom. Other than when it involved his coffee mug, the fridge or the flat in general.

John took a chair and went to sit next to Sherlock. He wasn't going to stop now. "Show me, please?"

Sherlock almost dropped his pipette from shock. He stuttered slightly, his dark coloured eyes wide and almost childlike with the expression. "You want to see what I'm doing?"

"Well yes. I want to know you." John said. "I don't ever want to doubt again. Ever." He added silently. But of course Sherlock heard it. He was like a bat in that way.

Silence reigned for some seconds. They hadn't talked much about Sherlock's return, nor anything that happened before or after it. John had punched him in the face; Sherlock apologised; John apologised and then they had stopped talking about it.

"You believed in me." The detective murmured.

"Yes, I did. But only because I wanted to." The doctor answered, leaning against the side of the messy table with his hands behind him. Open expressions. "If we hadn't been such good friends at the time of doubt, my doubt would have taken over. And I don't ever won't to feel the same way again."

Sherlock didn't answer, but he gave John a pair of spectacles and poured some HCl (John could read what was on the bottle) on the eyes ball. Its iris turned slowly into white.

"It's…amazing, Sherlock." John said in slight awe, leaning forwards slightly with a medical hardened intrigue on his face. "So what is the use of this?"

"I don't know." Sherlock shrugged as if it was obvious. "To keep me occupied?"

John rolled his eyes. "Well, in that case, you can label it as a lifesaving discovery." John grinned.

"Well do you know a better function then? You helped as well." Sherlock pouted slightly, his long curls looking almost shadowy around the innocent expression. Tainting.

John looked at the consulting detective, swallowing a sudden mouthful of saliva. The man looked good, even in the middle of his explanations. Especially during the explanations. "I didn't help, but thanks for saying it anyway, and I don't mind it not having a function if it'll keep you quiet."

John all but ran back to the living room giggling when Sherlock glared at him. It was so worth it.

_**-xxx-**_

"It was the son!"

John looked up from his conversation with Lestrade. He was just getting him up to date with _Wooing Sherlock _(it sounded way better than _SSHWHNIATLHEA_, he had to admit that). Since that the night two weeks ago, when John had put his plan into action for the first time, Sherlock had come to John sometime to ask if he wanted to help. John helped just as much as that first time, meaning they would sit at the kitchen table together; Sherlock would do his experiment and John would ask what he was doing.

Sherlock seemed to enjoy it. After all, genius needs an audience.

"How did you know?" John immediately asked, not letting any chance pass to work on _WS_.

"He was stabbed in the stomach. Women don't stab. They poison, they strangle, they might even hit, but they don't stab. It takes to much force to cause a deathly stab. So a man. Then the fact that he is wearing his pyjamas indicates that he knew the killer. He just moved over here..."

"How do you know he just moved?" John asked. There weren't any boxes and the house seemed to be filled with al kind of useless mess.

"He has flower wallpaper." Sherlock said with an expression of disgust glancing at the walls, which had indeed a deep green colour with huge pink and white flower. "He recently got divorced."

"Missing ring and white stripe around the finger?"

"I'm glad to see that you're learning something from me." Sherlock said approvingly, that smirky smile on his face. "It's always good to know that there is someone who isn't an idiot. Or at least not a complete one." He added when everybody looked at him, shock clearly written over their faces. "So yes, recently divorced. Only one child at the photos, who's a boy. So why flower wallpaper? He had just moved in and didn't have the time nor the money to change it. Therefore he certainly didn't have the time to make new friends. So who did he know well enough to let them in, in his pyjama? His wife and son. I explained in the beginning why it couldn't be the wife, so the son had to be the murderer. Case closed."

"Amazing." John said without fault.

Sherlock seemed to puff up, nodding to the doctor. "Thank you John, you did very well yourself. I'm almost impressed."

"If you two are done with your little foreplay, I would like to mention that the case isn't solved. We don't have any evidence." Lestrade interrupted, crossing his arms to look at the detective and the doctor pointedly.

Sherlock made his annoyed face (yes he knew Sherlock's different faces, all good friends did right? Okay, it was stupid he didn't notice how he felt about Sherlock before.) "Weapon in the garbage bin behind the son's house; fingerprints still on it and I'm sure he will confess he did it the moment you asked. He's an absolute amateur."

"Motive?"

Without even a pause to so much as blink, the consulting detective answered. "Son's a junkie. Look how much weight he has lost at the recent pictures. He asked for money, father refused to give it to him, knowing to what he would spend it en you know how dull junkies can react."

"Brilliant."

"Thank you John." Sherlock gave John one of his rare, genuine smiles.

The doctor beamed, looking at Sherlock. It was…he had started smiling more recently. Nearly all of them were directed at him. _WS _was a good plan, but…it was one that was really working. Sherlock was opening up. "Let's go home." John said happily.

"Hungry?" Sherlock grinned.

John nodded pointedly. "Starving. Where would you like to go?"

"It doesn't matter for me. I'm not eating anyway."

"First of all: I don't want you to get bored and start insulting costumers, not matter how amusing it might be and secondly; yes you are eating. You're not on a case so you have no excuse. Now choose." John said firmly, looking up at the taller man.

Sherlock smiled slyly. "Angelo's then?"

"As you wish." John obliged.

And off they went on another great adventure; actually getting Sherlock to eat something, rather than just saying it, but nonetheless! A great adventure indeed.


	3. 3 clothing

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked the moment John stepped in the living room.

John sighed. After three weeks of showing interest in every move Sherlock made and everything he did or said, it seemed like what he was doing was normal now. The perfect moment for, as John decided, the second step in his plan. So here he was in trousers one size too small and a tight black shirt which showed how muscular he was. With pain in his heart he'd banished al his jumpers to the back of his closet in order to make enough room for his new wardrobe.

"Nowhere, thought about having a nice night in." he answered. It was the truth after all. If he could decide, Sherlock and he would spent all their nights together at home. Except when they were out for a case.

As long as they were together.

"Then why are you wearing that outfit which clearly says that you want to get laid? Don't tell me you're comfortable in it." Sherlock raised a quizzical eyebrow at the doctor, tilting his head to the side.

John smiled. Comfortable was the last thing he was, he didn't even dare to sit down, in case his jeans would tear. "I'm just sick of everybody making jokes about what I wear." John said as he leant against his chair by the fireplace. "I thought I could show them what was under all the jumper."

"In that case you've succeeded." Sherlock said without a pause, a sly smile on his face.

John blushed he knew he couldn't get a better compliment out of Sherlock, but he couldn't help teasing him about it. "Are you saying I look amazing? Wonderful? Maybe even gorgeous?"

"I didn't say any of that." Sherlock replied, lifting a finger. "But as you're so obviously begging for a compliment, I'd say you do indeed look good. I'm sure that people who care about looks will not pass you without looking back and wondering why they didn't notice you before."

"People who are not you of course." John said, his own smile coming to his face. He think he might have caught something here.

Rolling his eyes, the detective looked at John with that pointed glare that screamed 'this is obvious, even you could get it.' He spoke; "Obviously John, I've known you for quite some time and because of all sorts of events, I've seen you without your jumpers, or even wearing less."

John had to try really hard not cough 'experiments' when Sherlock mentioned the different events. He was still wondering what experiment had caused Sherlock to want to observe him in the shower, but since he'd shove Sherlock out of the bathroom so quickly, he never had the chance, nor did he dared to ask, afraid what the answer might be.

"So why would I be startled when I see you all dressed up. No matter how fine you may look, it isn't really like something I haven't seen before." Sherlock continued.

John thought for a moment, then shook his head. "All I'm going to remember out of your beautiful speech is that you think I look fine."

He shrugged, raising his hands. "If it pleases you, do so. Although I can't see why it would be so important for you what _I_ think of how you look. I'm sure that your girlfriends will compliment whenever you want them to."

If only Sherlock knew how important it was if _he_ would say that John looked amazing. That would be the day; but as that wasn't going to be happening any time soon, he couldn't really tell Sherlock why either. So he settled for; "That is why when you say it is all the more important. It's sincere."

"I figures that makes sense."

John turned around to go make some tea. The second step had failed miserly. Maybe he should've known that that Sherlock didn't care about looks, but he did seem to find it important when he got dressed.

John fondly smiled at the memory of Sherlock in that purple dress shirt, his tight jeans, and that long coat which suited him so well.

He sighed again. Not only had he misjudged Sherlock, but because of his petty lie, he'd have to go out in these clothes for at least another week before he could claim that the effect wasn't what he had hoped for and could go back to his comfortable clothes.

Well there was one positive side to gain from this entire thing: the face he imagined Donovan would make when they arrived at the crime scene would be hilarious. Maybe he could even make Anderson jealous. After all, he had gotten quite the muscle tone in the army and thanks to Sherlock and his wild chase of criminals throughout London, they hadn't faded a bit.

"John stop being vain about your torso and bring me my tea."John smiled.

After all even if step hadn't worked out the way he wanted it, it meant he could start earlier on step three. And step three was something he _knew_ Sherlock liked.

He grinned when he gave Sherlock his tea. He couldn't _wait_ until tomorrow.


	4. 4 complementing

John was worried. Not because he thought his plan might fail, but because he thought Sherlock wouldn't even notice the difference.

And what was the use in that then?

Complementing Sherlock was something that was almost natural for John; he didn't even have to think about it. No, whenever Sherlock said something brilliant, John just couldn't stop himself and telling Sherlock how amazing he found him. When Sherlock deduced the number of partners some has had just from the person's zipper, or when he could tell someone if they had been cheating just by the state of the ring, how could John stay indifferent?

The option of not telling Sherlock what he thought of him had never occurred to him. Of course that was the same in cases when he didn't agree with something Sherlock did or said, and that often resulted in John leaving to a pub and slamming doors and Sherlock torturing his fiddle.

Sometimes John and Sherlock were just so alike.

One night when he came home, he heard Sherlock play his fiddle.

Normally it wouldn't surprise him, since they were in the middle of a major case, but something was different. Instead of trying to find notes on his violin that don't normally exist, Sherlock was playing a real song. It was some symphony from some classical guy, whom John didn't know the name of, but the doctor knew it was a very complicated piece to play. And yet he saw Sherlock standing affront of the window, playing it with only a fraction of his mind involved, using most of his brain to solve the case.

Inside John's head some kind of voice began to shout: 'Complementing, complementing, complementing!' John smiled.

It was indeed a great time to test how Sherlock would react toward this new development. If he would appreciate it even when he was thinking, John had the green light to continue to do this whenever and wherever he wanted.

"So beautiful," he whispered loud enough to make sure Sherlock heard it, but not loud enough to let Sherlock know he was meant to hear it.

For a fraction of a second Sherlock's back went stiff, before he continued to play. Only this time he seemed to play more passionately. John smiled. Maybe his plan was working after all.

-xxx-

John couldn't help but stare at Sherlock. He had been staring at him for more than an hour.

They went out to ask the niece about how her aunt liked her eggs best. Sherlock had explained to him why it was important, but by then John was already lost in Sherlock. The niece was eighteen and very shy, so she wouldn't be very willing to talk.

Sherlock's solution?

Be even more irresistible than usual. And now they were sitting next to each other.

The plan had worked.

The niece had told everything Sherlock needed to know and so much more. John understood how she wasn't able to resist answering when Sherlock asked something. Sherlock was wearing his purple shirt again along with a pair of jeans that looked like they were painted on him. Sherlock's great bum (so maybe he was drooling a little and maybe he deliberately stayed one step behind Sherlock to watch) was accentuated all the more. Every muscle he had, which was surprisingly a lot, given how skinny he was, were visible moving underneath his clothes.

And there was the voice in John's head again telling him this was another great moment to put his plan in action. And who was John to contradict his own head.

"How do you manage to look that great without even trying?" John asked once they were outside, his voice filled with the wonder he had felt all afternoon.

Sherlock looked back at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on, you know what I mean." John said bluntly, walking after the detective. "You dressed like that deliberately today to make the niece drool all over you so that along with the drool, at least some useful information would come out of her."

"Yes," Sherlock said rather simply, surprising John with the simplicity of the initial answer. "I know what you meant about looking me looking good. And I even know what you meant by me not trying, even though running around London 24/7 isn't really doing 'nothing'. No, what I meant was more, why do you ask me this? Are you looking for tips to pick up some ladies?"

"Almost," John murmured. After all, he was looking for some tips, just not with ladies. "No, I guess it was just my silly way of saying that you look good. Great actually."

Sherlock looked shocked, confused and flattered all at the same time. And if his eyes weren't cheating on him, which wasn't very possible giving he wasn't _that _old, Sherlock was…_blushing_.

It was the most adorable thing John had seen.

"Aren't you supposed to be straight?" Sherlock asked with a different kind of tone to his voice.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Straight men don't notice other men's looks."

"Sociopaths don't blush when someone notices their looks."

Sherlock's small flush seemed to redden and his eyes darkened into a glare. "I didn't blush."

John gave Sherlock a glare that said 'you did and there is no use in denying it, so don't be a dumbass and just say so.'

"Still," Sherlock said pointedly, "It's strange for a straight man to notice how I look." Sherlock said.

John smiled, in Sherlock's language that was him accepting that he had blushed. It was only a small victory, but it was one. Plus now they were on this subject, John could tell Sherlock something he had wanted to tell him for a long time.

Something that was super important for his plan to succeed.

"Well, I never denied being bi, now did I? I just said I'm not gay, which I'm not. I still like a woman, but I also can't refuse the charms of a firm body against mine." John said. Immediately, he felt that heavy burden was lifted of his shoulders. Now he just had to watch and see if Sherlock could already make the puzzle, or if he had to continue a little bit longer with his plan.

"Oh," was the only thing coming out of Sherlock's mouth. Apparently he hadn't seen that one coming.

John- 2

Sherlock- 0

They walked home in silence. Sherlock was puzzled by what John had said and the fact that he didn't see it coming. John was enjoying in the fact that he said something that was so surprising to Sherlock that he seemed to be completely forgotten about the fact that he had actually solved the case they were working on.

John definitely liked this part of the plan.


	5. 5 Love Food

**I'm soooooooooooo sorry it took me so long. I really don't have any excuse at all (or at least non of them good enough to tell). But to make it up to you, I have not only this chapter ready but also 3 others. I'll publish them every week, I promise!  
And I have some more good news, I have found myself an amazing bèta. thank you very much HollyEmpire00. All the love you give me, I'll give 50% to her. you know what this means? I need the double of the love ;)  
I hope you enjoy this chapter, this is the one that makes the rating go up to T because of some words and innuendos**

John was in Tesco's. The complementing had worked better than he had ever hoped. It had come to the point where he could tell Sherlock he looked amazing on any given day and Sherlock didn't think it was strange. Although he did seem to like it. He provoked John to complement him.

He would deduce something at the crime scene and look immediately at John, making it very obvious what he wanted. And who was John to disappoint the great Sherlock Holmes? Words like 'amazing' and 'brilliant' where just as familiar to John as his own name. Or Sherlock's. But now it was time to move on to the next phase. The food phase.

John had always known how food could stimulate certain reactions. Want to be romantic? Spaghetti. Want to make a guy hard? Bananas. Want to woo someone? Strawberries. Want to get laid? Chocolate and whipped cream. And of course don't forget sharing an ice cream at the end of a perfect date.

So yes, the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. And despite everything he claimed, Sherlock Holmes was human and was a man, so he must have some primal urges and John saw it his duty to wake them.

By food. Love food.

John wheeled his full trolley to the check out. Bananas, strawberries, spaghetti, oysters, figs, ice lollies, some wine and so on and so on. John smiled. If this failed, he would at least have had some decent meals to eat the following weeks. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would get all the innuendos he would be making, but the ones he would get, would be fun enough.

John could imagine what faces Sherlock would be making when he deduced what John was doing and they put him in a good mood, actually his mood was so good that he checked everything out at the self-service cash register with a smile.

John was enjoying one of the ice lollies he had bought. He liked this one. Strawberry-flavoured, so it was actually two in one, if you thought about it. But apart for the nice flavours and varieties of food and food combinations he discovered, this phase was a complete failure.

The more innuendos he made, the more Sherlock sulked. Take today as an example: they were having a nice conversation, Sherlock explaining how he found the murderer on the latest case, John typing it out for his blog, until John took out the ice lolly. Result: Sherlock fled to the kitchen to experiment with something that somehow produced a giant cloud of purple smoke. And when John would ask what Sherlock was doing (still working on phase one of the plan), he got a short "Nothing you'd be interested in" back.

A clear sign that Sherlock didn't want him around.

He sucked his lollipop. He didn't get what he was doing wrong. If Sherlock knew what he's doing, than why sulk instead of laughing at him (or jump him, as John hoped in his most secret and most locked up thoughts)? And if he didn't knew, than why sulk all together? His head started throbbing, whether it was a brain freeze or just too much to worry about, he didn't know, but he knew that this phase wasn't working and that he should quit with it. He'd give it one last shot and if it didn't work out the way it should, he'd start with something new tomorrow.

For tonight he had filled figs prepared, and he'd put a lot of work in it, so he'd enjoy them, no matter how Sherlock might react. Or that he didn't even like figs

They were eating in silence. Sherlock was probably mad that John forced him to eat and John was mad that he once again had to force him to eat.

"All right, spill it, John," Sherlock said all of the sudden, "Who is this new, much younger _boyfriend _of yours?"

John looked up in surprise "Excuse me?"

"Your boyfriend. It must be a _boyfriend_ since you've been practising fellatio all week on any kind of food that people with little imagination like yourself use. Bit strange for seducing a girl don't you think? And he's obvious much younger than you are since we are eating figs. You _hate_ figs. Something about their texture. But everybody knows what 'wonders' they do with you stamina. Your running along with me has made that you have quite an excellent condition, even after you left the army for a quieter life in London. So, a few years wouldn't make a difference. No there must be at least a gap of ten years, maybe even more. Midlife crisis already, John?"

John couldn't help it, he started to laugh loudly. It seemed all so absurd. All the troubles he went through and now Sherlock thought he had a toyboy. It was all just so daft.

Once he calmed down enough to react at the angry glares Sherlock was sending him for laughing at him (really what did he expect, that he started complementing him. He wouldn't have done that, even if Sherlock was right. Especially not if Sherlock would be right about something like this), he asked the most illogical thing of all;

"Why do you care?"

After all, even if he _had_ had a boyfriend, it was none of Sherlock's business. He hadn't cared about John's girlfriends either, now had he?

"I don't!" Sherlock snapped, turning back to his food.

John smiled. If Sherlock said he didn't, there was just no point in arguing him…even though it was obvious that for some mysterious reason he _did_ care a lot, at least enough to sulk about for almost more than a week.

Only later when he was lying underneath his comforting sheets, thinking the entire thing over once more, surprised at how right Sherlock had been, even though he was wrong. He had been trying to seduce a guy, who was much younger than him. He also couldn't stop wondering why Sherlock had cared that much.

Only when his clock had long passed the hour of midnight, he thought of something.

It was a crazy thought. Almost impossible.

But yet he couldn't stop thinking it. What if Sherlock cared so much, in his own weird way of course, had been so upset over this idée-fixe of John's 'boyfriend', because he was jealous?


	6. 6 jealous

**I've gotten so many nice reviews for my last chapter that I thought I reward you all with a new chapter already. (Yeey me!) I hope you like this one as much as I do; I had a lot of fun writing this. (My teachers hate me, since I kept writing this during class, but I just couldn't stop)  
Love from me to you and if you want to show your love for me, please review**

The next morning John woke up as confused as he had been when he had fallen asleep.

It seemed so unlikely for Sherlock to be jealous, but what other explanation was there? And if Sherlock was jealous, how could John use it best in his advantage? Maybe he could…

BOOM!

John sat up with a start. Something had exploded downstairs.

He quickly hurried down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. It wasn't the first time Sherlock miscalculated the force of the explosion and needed John to take care of whatever wounds he'd gotten this time. ("I was right John. The suspect could never make this poison without getting sever damage on his hands. Au, careful John. I plan on using them again.") But when he came downstairs he was met by what could only be called a shocking sight.

It seemed like a bomb had been set off in their kitchen. A bomb filled with batter. Everywhere he could see there was batter; the ground, the chairs, even on the ceiling. On the table were some black, square-shaped things he supposed were attempts at toast and in the middle of the battlefield stood Sherlock with the flour in his hair and batter on his face.

It was quite a sight.

"What happened here?" John asked, not sure whether to laugh or to be angry, after all, he would be the one to clean up this mess.

"You seemed upset yesterday, after my…" Sherlock paused for a second, thinking of a word which would describe yesterday's event in a (more) positive way. "Questioning, so I cleared most of the body parts out of the fridge," He pointed to a pile of boxes in a corner. "And made you toast and waffles. Well I…attempted to."

John started laughing at the face Sherlock made. It was somewhere between sadness, disappointment and surprise, like he couldn't believe he had failed.

Of course the moment John started laughing, all these emotions vanished of Sherlock's face to make room for an angry glare. It might have worked hadn't a drop of batter slowly made his way down Sherlock's face.

If you asked him later, he couldn't say what had possessed him, but the next he knew, he'd taken a step forward and whipped the drop away with his thumb. And because he hadn't made a big enough idiot out of himself, he apparently thought licking his finger clean would do the job. Sherlock's eyes went wide with surprise and he stared at John with such an intense look that he simply couldn't look away.

He noticed how Sherlock's pupils were dilated. He liked the colour of Sherlock's eyes. How their colour would change with his mood. He'd seen them grey, blue, green and various combinations of them, yet there was not one colour which made his heart beat as fast as the black that they were now.

Hoping he wasn't reading this wrong and that Sherlock felt the same want and need as he did at the moment, he slowly tilted his head, just enough to make his intentions clear without forcing anything. Apparently, though, he had nothing to fear, because Sherlock showed the same intentions, a little more hesitant, but still his head was in what could be called the kissing position and as they moved closer and that beautiful cupid bow came within snogging distance as well, John wouldn't believe how perfect this was.

"Ah-eum…"

John felt Sherlock going rigid in his arms and saw the mask fall over his face. If there was any emotion showing before, it was definitely gone now. And so was his chance.

John turned around to see who the stupid culprit who ruined everything John had worked so hard for these last few weeks was. Naturally it had to be the same person who started it all.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said even more cool than usual, like he was trying to make up for whatever Lestrade may have seen.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, but we have this case and I don't even know whether it is my division or not," Lestrade said, quickly working down the blush on his face from watching these men standing in such an intimate position.

"You're always bothering me, but bringing a case with you instead of your sniffer dogs does help, I suppose," Sherlock replied.

"Alright then," Lestrade took a seat, as did Sherlock. The inspector placed some pictures on the mess on their coffee table. "Two men in a room, both died from heart-failure, one had both wallets in his pocket, empty, and the other had all the money and the cards in his pocket. Windows closed down, door closed from the inside, no secret passages, not even a fireplace. Basically, they robbed each other and then died." Lestrade explained.

Seeing that the two men would be busy for quite some time, John set himself to the task of making tea. He added Sherlock's _five_ desired spoons of sugar and splash of milk in before handing it to the man. John considered whether he should be worried that he knew how Sherlock took his tea, but of course _John_ was always the one to the make the tea.

After giving Lestrade his tea as well and getting two grumbles as a response he supposed should represent the men's form of 'thank you', he seated himself in his chair with his own cup of tea (spoon of sugar, drop of milk) and looked at Sherlock working. No matter how long he knew Sherlock, he would always be amazed by how this beautiful man's brain worked. His voice was very soothing and soon he felt his eyes fall close.

Apparently he'd fallen asleep, because when he woke, he saw Sherlock putting on his coat and disappears through the door. He was gone in seconds.

"Where did he go?" he asked Lestrade who was still sitting in Sherlock's chair the pictures in front of him, looking like Sherlock just dumped him there. Which he probably had.

"I don't know. He said something about red ants and just run off." Lestrade answered "I'm sorry about bursting in like that, earlier. I would've left if this case wasn't so damn confusing."

"Never mind, Greg, it's not your fault. I'm just scared that he'll realise what he was about to do and he'll shut me out completely. A chance like that, to surprise him, to catch him of guard, will probably not happen again." John sighed. In other words, _they_ will not happen. Life really does suck.

"What brought it up anyway?" Lestrade asked, looking at the mess in the kitchen.

"Oh, Sherlock cooked." John said, following Lestrade's glare. "He failed terribly, but Sherlock looked so adorable with batter all over his face, that I couldn't resist tasting."

"Wait what? Sherlock cooked?" Lestrade looked shocked. That was hard to believe.

"Yeah, he put a cross-examination on me last night and he was becoming a bit too enthusiastic, not to say rude, so he apologised. By giving me something to do for the rest of the day apparently." John answered, most like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"So now he cooked and he apologised? And you're sure you're still not together?"

"Not funny. Although I think he might be coming around..."

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday, the enquiring, it was about my 'boyfriend'." John grinned. "He's putting one and one together, but his solution is currently three. He knows I'm trying to impress someone, he just doesn't get it's him. And yesterday, I guess something snapped because when we were eating figs..."

"Figs?" Lestrade interrupted him.

"Good for the stamina." John winked, as Lestrade broke out in laughter. "Shut up. So while eating, he suddenly cracked and I think he might have been jealous. And this morning I woke up to this," John smiled, gesturing around the kitchen. "I should make him jealous more often. Do you have anything to do tonight?" John joked.

"Unfortunately, I already have a date tonight," Greg replied, puffing up his chest, looking rather proud of himself. "But I don't think you should dismiss the idea as just a joke. You haven't tried to make him jealous and you've already almost kissed. Imagine what would happen if you'd really _try_."

"Maybe. But now enough about my love life or better lack of, who's your date?" John asked.

Greg started blushing and fiercely shook his head. "Sorry mate, not going to tell you."

"Come on; at least tell me if your date is male or female."

"No, thank you."

"Male it is."

"How did you know?"

"I didn't, I just guessed. But I know now." John smiled cheekily. "Now let's see, who do you know that you'd be willing to date."

"Please don't do this..."

"You don't have a life outside your work." Lestrade sputtered in protest. "Oh, come on Greg," John said, "even we know each other through Sherlock which is work. So somebody you know through work. Please don't tell me you're dating Anderson."

"No! He's married. I know what it's like to be cheated on; I'm not going to do that to someone else. Besides even if I was, he's not my type at all."

"So not Anderson. Dimmock?"

"Who do you think I am? A paedophile? I'm honestly not dating someone from work."

"Ok, in that case you're dating someone related to your work. Let's see who we have. Well, you're not dating me, I know that. I desperately hope you're not dating Sherlock, that would be very cruel, but it would be someone related to him. There for I should know him. It's not like Sherlock knows that many people. Well, besides all his enemies, but of course you'd never..." John trailed off, as if coming to a realisation. "Wait just a minute! No! No way. Him?"

Lestrade turned crimson "Why not?"

"But he's his brother. He's like Sherlock but even more creepy."

"Maybe, but with more tact and inside to personal boundaries. He has all the up-sides, without all the down-sides." John started laughing and soon Lestrade followed, knowing he'd sounded just as much as a love struck fool as John had did so many weeks ago.

"So soon we'll be trading stories about the brothers Holmes?" John said throughout his hiccups.

"How long has this been going on anyway?"

"We've known each other for more than 8 years, been friends for 5, lovers for 4 and best friends for 3." Greg replied snappily.

"Cute."

"Shut up."

And the laughing restarted. They were still laughing when Sherlock returned.

"Arrest the wife. She killed both with red ants-poison." He said as soon as he entered, hanging up his coat as if what he had said was the most natural thing in the world.

"How... You know what, never mind." Lestrade held up his hands as he stood, taking a deep breath. "Thank you Sherlock. A pleasure as always, John. We should go for a pint sometime soon, when you're free."

"He won't be free anytime soon." Sherlock said, before John could even open his mouth.

Lestrade grinned, giving John a small wink. "Think about what I said, John. I think it might actually work." And he was gone.

Sherlock turned towards John, a partially suspicious, partially curious expression on his face. "What was Lestrade talking about?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "Nothing special. Forget about it."

"Fine. Chinese?"

"Actually, no," John said, willingly to give everything a try. "I have a date tonight."

"So there actually is a boyfriend." Sherlock said, voice suddenly dropping ten degrees. It was a statement; not a question. Good sign.

"No, merely a date. But he is gorgeous and some years younger. And not boring at all. I think, no I know you'd like him." John said, a plan already forming inside his head.

"I seriously doubt it. So where did you said you'd take him to?" Sherlock asked, trying to sound casual.

John smiled. Sherlock was so predictable sometimes. "I was thinking about taking him to DSTKT. But I have to get ready. Lestrade stayed longer than I had predicted."

But Sherlock ignored him, already lost in thoughts.

John came down in his T-shirts and jeans from phase two. He had put on a black shirt, combined with a white tie. He had dressed to impress and without being vain, he really believed he had succeeded.  
Sherlock was in his usual thinking position. Hands to his lips, like he was praying for ideas, but John saw his eyes dart over to where he stood. Not in the mind-palace then.

"I'll be going now."

No answer.

"There are some leftovers in the fridge. Next to the tongues."

No answer.

"Fine. Be that way. I'll be staying out late, don't wait up."

No answer.

John slammed the door shut. Why did Sherlock have to act the way he did? Things would go so much easier if he wouldn't chose his damn pride over his feelings. He smiled. Not so long ago, he thought Sherlock didn't have any feelings and now... now he was sure that they were there and most likely they were directed towards him.

He walked the last block to the restaurant, smiling when he thought about his date. It was all a bit last minute, but it would take his mind of all Sherlock-related things. He would enjoy his date and see what happened between them later.

He told the waiter his name and was directed towards his table. Another sign that fate wanted this to happen: even though there was normally no way you got in here if you hadn't reserved months before, but apparently someone just cancelled their reservations when John called. He thought Mycroft had something to do with it, but let it rest. There would be enough opportunities to thank him later.

He had been waiting for fifty minutes, steadily growing more nervous, when the door opened.  
"Took you long enough, I started to believe you wouldn't come. Here have a seat."


	7. 7 dating

**So here is my new chapter. I hope you like it. I just want to say thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourite or alerted my story, it means a lot to me. Now on with the story!**

Sherlock looked absolutely flabbergasted as he entered, his gaze fixed on John.

For a moment John wished he had brought his camera, just so he could have a look at this whenever he wanted. Or to show at Greg when Sherlock acted like a prick again. Or put it on the blog… Well, he didn't have one, so no use in dwelling on that

"I'm sorry, I think I misunderstood you." Sherlock said, regaining his posture. "Where is your date? Did he stand you up? Not a good start is it?"

"No, that's why it's good you made it, isn't it?" John grinned cockily. "And you know you understood me just fine. Now have a seat, I've been getting pity looks from the waiters for the last fifteen minutes."

"You're on a date… with me?" Sherlock said, looking rather confused.

"Oh, so you're brain has decided to join us. Joy."

"You didn't find it necessary to inform me?"

John rolled his eyes. "No. I've been trying to subtly seduce you for the past four months. Clearly it didn't work, so I've decided to be bold."

"You should have told me…" Then the consulting detective seemed to catch on to what he was saying. "Wait, you've been trying to seduce me? Why?"

"Why do people seduce others?" John replied, smiling up at Sherlock, his eyes soft. "Because I like you and I want to date you. You think you'd like that too?"

"I'd love that." Sherlock quickly sat down, looking up at John as she adjusted his coat to sit comfortably, loosening his scarf slightly.

"Someone's quite eager," John was so relieved Sherlock was there, sitting in front of him, on a _real_ date.

"The heart wants what the heart wants." Sherlock softly murmured, looking at John.

"Sorry, what?" John raised his hand to order.

Sherlock's back straightened and he sat back, his familiar Sherlock-like posture returning. "Nothing, just pretend you didn't hear anything. So, are you hungry?"

"Don't forget I've been sitting here for an hour, surrounded by all these lovely smells. I can't wait to dig into it." John said as if it was obvious.

"So, how are you going to pay for this?" Sherlock tried to make small talk. "These dishes cost an average of £16.35, which is above you're normal spending rate."

"I know, but it's a special date, isn't it?" John did enjoy the way he was able to make Sherlock blush. "I've been saving for a while and now I know I'm going to enjoy them. So shall we?"

"Let's."

"So…how is it possible to poison someone by red ants?" John asked curiously, looking across the table at Sherlock. "I didn't even know you could die from their poison."

"Normally, you can't, because their dose is too small. But when you buy the pure poison on the black market, it's a piece of cake." Sherlock replied, lacing his hands together and placing them on the table. "She put the poison in their drinks and after they died, she set up the entire scene."

"But what with the closed windows and doors?"

"Ah, there comes the stupidity from the Yard across." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They forgot to notice that it was the kind of window you can open from the inside only and locks down after its shut. Really, they should be so grateful to me."

"They are. Well, Lestrade is at least. For multiple reasons." John smiled.

"I think I'm missing the joke here." Sherlock looked a bit grumpy (and SO cute!) not knowing something John most obviously does. "What's going on?"

"You mean you don't know? You really don't _know_?"

"Obviously, otherwise I would've told you wouldn't I?"

Sherlock huffed, looking across at John with a slightly miffed gaze. "Well, you could've thought it wasn't necessary to share. Or you could've been too disgusted to tell me."

"Tell you what exactly?"

John caved. "Just promise not to let this ruin our date okay?" John reached over to grab Sherlock's hand.

"Fine!" Sherlock was too transfixed on John's touching his, holding his, to fully concentrate on what John said. It was different to lacing his own fingers together; John's hands were a little rougher, battle worn…

"Okay. Lestrade is dating your brother."

"Good for him." Sherlock said instantly, still too amazed by the heat that John's hand caused and how he still got chills running down his spine to immediately grasp what John said. But once it hit him, it hit him full force. "What!? Why? When? How?" Everything came out in one single breath, no way of controlling it, never mind stopping it.

John just smiled, looking across at Sherlock affectionately. He was so cute when he was flustered. "Lestrade and your brother are dating. Because they love each other; they have for four years. And to your how-question, if you keep your promise I hope you'll know by the end of the night."

Sherlock's head shot up immediately, red as a lighthouse. "Yes, uhm, in that case, I see no other options than to keep my promise."

'God, how sweet is he,' John thought. He couldn't seem to get the image of this blushing Sherlock out of his mind. Not that he tried very hard.

"Good. That's what I thought." And he softly squeezed Sherlock's hand "Now continue to focus on out date instead of theirs."

"They're on a date." Sherlock enforced. "Like in right now. As in, if I call Lestrade right now, I would annoy both Lestrade and my brother?"

John's smile dropped momentarily. "Yes, you would. You would also be sitting here alone. Pick the one you want the most."

"So, on with the date." Came the rapid reply.

And if they both felt some butterflies in their stomach because of how good the sound of _us_ sounded, it wasn't mentioned. Neither was it mentioned that, although they had to release their hands when dinner arrived, they quickly moved so their legs would touch. It also wasn't mentioned, during the small talk they made all evening, how they couldn't help but smile when they looked at the other.  
And it was most definitely not mentioned that even just sharing an ice-cream made their hands go all sweaty.

No, none of that was mentioned, but they were noticed anyway.

When the evening glow turned into jet-black and the streetlights made the stars disappear, they returned home. They were still laughing at the things Sherlock deduced from some of their fellow-costumers, yet things started to change, and things were beginning to get awkward. The eternal question of 'what next' made their hearts and hands burn with desire to hold, yet kept their courage to do it down.

The ride back to Baker Street was a silent one, both searching for the right words, but neither finding them. When they left the cab and Sherlock was already looking for his keys (you'd be surprised how much fitted in those tight jeans pockets), it had all became too much for John. The moment Sherlock wanted to open the door to their apartment, John stopped him. "I think you should know that I've made it a tradition to kiss all my good dates before they enter their houses."

Sherlock looked flabbergasted, shy, excited and a bit wary. "You live here as well, that would be a bit redundant, don't you think?"

"Maybe so, but I still want to…" He took a step closer to Sherlock. He was now close enough to see, despite the darkness still surrounding them, how Sherlock's breathing had increased and how his pupils were dilated. "And so do you."

"Yes, of course I want to. I just… I've never… You know. Kissed someone." Sherlock said quietly; the nervousness in his tone showing.

"Never?"

"How strange it may seem, people tend to find me a freak. An apparently very un-kissable freak."

"Strange, I've never noticed people did." John went along in the joke, to relieve some of the tension. He took a hesitatingly step towards Sherlock "I always found you a very beautiful, smart and funny man…" He softly licked his lips, "…and very kissable." And closed the gap between them.

The feeling was sensational.

John wondered what took them so long. The feeling of Sherlock's lips, how inexperienced they might be, against his own was breath-taking. Escorted by Sherlock's hand that was slowly moving up, to rest in his hair, the other one steadily on his hip; it was all so amazing. He wondered if Sherlock's famous soft curls would be as soft as he imagined it. He couldn't quite grasp the feeling that he didn't have to just wonder anymore; that he was allowed to touch. And god, it was _so _very soft.

Unconscious he pulled it, wanting to feel more. He felt Sherlock's moan leaving his mouth and he welcomed it whole heartily. The feeling of their tongues colliding was just too much for John. The sigh that left his lips was answered by one of Sherlock's. Soon enough the once quiet hall was filled with all sorts of happy noises.

The only thing able to rip their lips apart was a desperate need for air.

"Wow." Sherlock panted.

"Wow indeed."

Sherlock tilted his head, looking down at John as he practically sucked in the air. "Tell me again, why didn't we do that sooner?'

John answered instantly, with fervour. "Because we are both idiots who are so good in denying what it right in front of them, that they miss how good it can be."

They laughed and finally entered the house, silence on them again. Yet this time it was more a charged silence than an awkward one. Sherlock moved towards his room, suddenly shy again, when he abruptly turned around "Good night John. I had a good time."

John nodded, his eyes softening. "Me too. We should do this again."

"We should."

They stood there for five minutes before Sherlock turned around again and made his way to his bed and slept better than he had done in years. And if there was a camera (which was, let's admit it, very likely) their lenses might have cracked from the illuminating smile he had for the rest of the night.


	8. 8 lovey dovey

**I don't like the very angsty stories where John tries to kill himself after Sherlock left, so, of course, I had to write a piece myself. Prepare for the most angsty thing I've ever written. But, don't worry, the first and the last parts are still fluffy enough to puke rainbows with flying unicorns ;) I don't know when the next chapter will be uploaded, I've still got to write about one fourth and then it still has to be corrected. But as soon as I have it, you'll have it.  
Sorry for this long author note**

Lestrade tried to climb the stairs as quietly as humanely possible, but given the hour he had to wake up, he probable still made it seem like a herd of elephants was making its way towards 221B. But who could blame him? It was 3 am.

Because of both their busy lives, he and Mycroft couldn't spend nearly as much time together as they'd like. Tonight it was the first time they were able to spend with each other longer than the quick glance and kiss goodbye in the morning.

He just hoped Sherlock would do his thing, (he once called it his magic. He'll never do _that_ again. He had to listen to an hour long lecture about the nonexistence of magic and how silly he was to not only believe in it, but to think that what Sherlock did came even close to such a thing) so they might solve this case quickly and he'd be able to get back to his warm bed, partner included.

More determined than ever, he knocked on the door. He was sure that either John or Sherlock would've woken up to the sound he made, but apparently not, since he stood in front of a closed door for almost five minutes before Sherlock appeared. Wearing nothing but a blanket. He had always believed it to be a joke of Mycroft or at least a hyperbole, but not then.

Sherlock looked as if he had woken him up. It shouldn't come as much of a shock that Sherlock was human enough to sleep, as it proved to be.

He shortly looked at him and shot him a glare. He didn't even bother to ask what he did this time. Probably an unforgivable thing like wearing brown shoes. He just kept repeating the words _warm bed _and _Mycroft_ in his head, while he was directed toward the sofa.

"Please, do keep quite. John's still asleep." Naturally that was the moment John chose to appear out of Sherlock's bedroom in nothing than a boxer short and what appeared one of Sherlock's shirts.  
It took him a second to grasp that John had been asleep in _Sherlock's _room. With barely wearing anything. But even those two pieces of clothing were two more than what Sherlock was wearing under this sheet. He was sure that the combination of shock, happiness and smugness was visible on his face and amused Sherlock to no end. John realized his mistake and turned to bright shade of red.

"So, uhm, does anybody fancies some tea?" he tried to regain his posture.

"Yes, please love." Lestrade wasn't sure if it were the way Sherlock looked at John or the pet name, but whatever it was, it made John turn red again. "So Lestrade," Sherlock continued, "what did John tell me about you dating my brother? Tell me it's not true."

This time it was Greg's turn to become tomato red. John shot him an apologetic look from in the kitchen.

"Yes, we are dating; no, it's none of your business and could you please look at the case, so I can go back to Mycroft and you to John." Long time experience had taught Lestrade that pretending Sherlock didn't do anything to make him feel awkward, worked the best.

Sherlock looked like he was going to comment, but John wisely chose that moment to bring the tea. He passed the cups around and made his way towards his chair, but Sherlock, being the greedy bastard he was, grabbed his wrist and pulled him into his lap, nearly tipping his own cup and John's over them. John seemed just as surprised as the Detective Inspector, but soon relaxed and made himself comfortable, head nuzzled in the crook of Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock was soon explaining the case to him and it looked like he had completely forgotten about John, weren't it for the sideway glances and the arm around John's waist keeping him close.  
Apparently the warm tea, the mull droning of Sherlock's voice and the comfort of his body, had a soothing effect on the already exhausted John. He had a hard time just keeping his eyes open.  
Not that Sherlock seemed to mind. He was caressing him to sleep. It truly a touching image.

They were soon wrapping up the case. Sherlock had, as always, provided them with enough clues to catch the killer. He was making his way towards the door, when he saw in the corner of the eyes Sherlock sweeping a bit of hair out of John's face. He made up his mind and turned to the Johnlock-mess (it really it was impossible to see where one ended and the other one started) on the couch.

"Don't hurt him." Greg told him firmly.

Sherlock's head snapped up, evidently already forgotten he was there. "I could say the same about you Detective Inspector. With more right, since you are dating my _brother_."

Greg ground his teeth. "Yes, but you know as well as me that Mycroft could live without me…"

"He couldn't," Sherlock interrupted sharply. "Don't underestimate the importance of your presence in his life."

"Yes, well, uhm … Thank you. I love him very much." Lestrade felt the blush on his cheeks "But back to you and John."

"What about us?" Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Like I said, don't hurt him. When you were… "He hesitated for a second "gone, John was devastated."

"I know, he told me." Sherlock seemed a bit uncomfortable, a rare moment of guilt showing on his face.

"So he told you about the time I found him with an overdose?" Sherlock looked absolutely shocked and unaware tightened his grip on the little man in his lap. "Yeah, I guessed not. I don't ever want to find him like that again. Curled up in your chair, your old scarf clutched in his hands. If you hurt him, I promise you I will kill you, brother in-law or not."

"I won't, not intentionally anyway. I love him." Sherlock whispered and softly kissed John on the top of his head, who happily sight in his sleep, unaware of the conversation going on about him. "Mycroft told me not to come back; that it wasn't…would never be safe. But the only thing that kept me going while I was chasing Moran, was the thought of returning to John. He is the one for me. The _only_ one. In every sense of the word. Always has been and always will be."

"Good."

There was a stiff silence between them, when Lestrade snapped out of it. "I should get going."

"Back in bed with my brother." It wasn't said with the malice of the last times so Greg let it go.

"Yeah…see you tomorrow."

When John woke up from a very nice sleep, something was missing. After five minutes, when he was ready to open his eyes, he saw that Sherlock sat in the chair next to his (well, probably their by now) bed. "You know, I like it better when you are actually _in_ the bed. Far more options." He joked.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock seemed serious and even a bit angry.

John blinked in surprise, taken aback by the tone of his voice. He tried to think back to what he didn't tell Sherlock that could cause this reaction, but he couldn't think of anything. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek. "Lestrade talked, well threatened was more like it, about not hurting you."

"I told you Greg's a good friend. Maybe he's a bit too concerned, but he'll have his reasons I guess."

"Oh, he does. Like finding you half-death in my chair." Sherlock really was fuming by now, not able to keep the fury out of his voice. He turned to look at John, showing the anger, the hurt in his eyes. John hadn't felt fit to tell him this; he wanted to know why.

"Oh." That would explain why Sherlock was so angry.

"Yes, oh. So again, why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, what would you want me to tell you?" John was getting a bit frustrated as well, "Hi Sherlock, I missed you, so I tried to kill myself?"

"No, but when we talked about it." Sherlock spat back, his anger turning more to concern than anything else, his tone showing it. "Didn't the thought occur to you that that might be the right moment?"

"No, I don't see why I should've told you that! Because when you say that _we_ talked about it, you mean _I_ did. You didn't once say if you even missed me. Why would I tell you everything if you don't tell me anything at all?" John was working himself up. He had always been afraid that Sherlock hadn't missed him as much as he missed him, or even missed him at all.

"Of course I missed you. I _LOVE_ YOU."

John was stunned, and looked it. He never thought that he would hear Sherlock say that out loud, not without John saying it first. Which he should probably do, if the hurt expression on Sherlock's face meant anything.

"I love you too. I just hoped that we wouldn't say it for the first time you in the middle of an argument." He said softly, finally getting out of the bed and placing himself in Sherlock's lap. He seemed to sit there a lot lately.

"That wasn't an argument." Sherlock said, blushing slightly.

By God, it still was the most beautiful thing John had ever seen.

"It was. But that's okay, love. Every couple fights, that's what makes them so strong." He softly kissed Sherlock gently, placing a hand on his cheek. "It's what makes _us _so strong."

"John, remember the first thing you said when you woke up?" Sherlock said slyly.

"About you not being in the bed." John looked surprised and more than slightly unnerved by Sherlock's expression.

Sherlock let his face drift a little closer to John's, his eyes dark. "Yes, but more specifically the part about the options we had when I _was_ in the bed. Because I thought, I could go lie in the bed right now."

"Oh. _Oh!_"

And that is how our boys spend an entire day exploring the many options they had when Sherlock was in the bed with John.

And downstairs Mrs. Hudson for the first time felt bad for not investing in soundproof walls.

**we have officially reached the 10 000 words (even without my imense author notes) that's the longest I've ever written, don't I deserve some reviews now?**


	9. 9 bastard

**So, this is the last chapter of seduction. I don't know whether to be sad that it's over or happy that I pulled it off. It was an idea that I had for a long time and I'm glad I was able to share it with you all. I hope you enjoy this chapter. This isn't corrected yet, I couldn't bring myself to **_**not**_** share the end with you already, I'll replace this chapter the moment it's corrected by my **_**amazing**_** bête HollyEmpire00.  
This was my last enormous author note for this story, I'm working on another one, I just can't find my notes for the minute, but don't worry I'll be back ;)**

John was sure he wasn't imagining it. It couldn't be coincidence. First the cashier, then the old lady across Bart's and now at the Yard. People staring at him, pointing at him or giggling behind their hands. He had checked twice whether his zipper was up or whether he hadn't forgotten to get dressed (like on what Sherlock called 'the best Tuesday of his life'), but came out negative on both. He really couldn't find a reason shy people would laugh at him.

He had tried to ignore it at first, but it kept happening. Sherlock didn't seem bothered, but that was probably because Lestrade called them in with what promised to be an interesting case. So Sherlock walked by the secret glares, the whispered words and the occasional outcry, without a blink of the eye.  
John however couldn't shut it out so easily and couldn't help himself but try to understand what everybody was saying, hoping to get what was so damn funny! He came out empty handed however. The only audible things were gasps of, probably, amazement, like 'what?!' or 'NO!'.  
So he concluded that he must have done something shocking. Well that was something new. Not! Like living and since recently sleeping with the world's only consulting detective, the great Sherlock Holmes, wasn't shocking enough, he done something even worse, apparently.

Not that anybody knew he and the Yard's biggest asshole (not his _favourite_ nickname) were together, he wanted to enjoy his boyfriend (his BOYFRIEND!) for a little while longer, without having to hear everybody's, unwanted, opinion.

"Sherlock, John." Lestrade greeted them, "Thank you for making time from your," Lestrade snickered "busy schedule."  
This was exactly what John meant. This and the fact both agent Donovan and Anderson had voluntary stepped into the same room as Sherlock, without being asked, were other examples of his theory.  
"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at home?" Anderson sneered, though the usual malice was now accompanied by a smirk.  
"I believe the question in what are _you_ doing here? I don't see the necessity of a horrible forensic for a simple robbery. Especially if there are already two sergeants in the room."  
"Yes, thank you Anderson. Please continue with your job, there is enough still to be done, don't you think." Lestrade waved Anderson away.  
"Freak!" and with those cheerful last words, Anderson left the room.  
"I do have to agree with him, though," Lestrade said, "I didn't really expected you'd come when I texted you. Not now you have, you know, better things to do." He got a bit red in the neck from embarrassment.  
"You call me in for a burglary where the television and computer and other electronics are not stolen, but replaced by the newer and better models and expect me _not_ to come? Why?"  
"Well..."  
"Oh come on, we've all read that you two have better things to do now."Donovan intervened.  
John flushed red in the face. Had they slipped something? Looked at the wrong way? Touched too much? No, she said she had read it. Did he go a bit overboard on his blog, he would have to check of course, but he had proof read everything at least twice, just to avoid that.  
"When...How...What... Where did you read that? I mean it's just some gossip. You really shouldn't believe everything the internet says, it's only correct about 70 percent of the time." John tried to convince them that it wasn't true, but he knew it was a hopeless case. Donovan was laughing, Lestrade tried his best not to, but failed miserable and Sherlock looked just confused at him, probably also wondering where people could've read about their relationship.  
"You mean you don't know?" Donovan shriek with laughter, "Your boyfriend here, posts an entire article about what kissing you does to his body and mind and compares it with what he found on the internet on his website and he didn't tell you?"  
Oh, that would explain the confused look Sherlock had and why he wasn't bothered by the stares. He knew why. Bastard.

John stayed silent for the entire time they were at the Yard and stayed still in the cab as well. When they arrived home, he silently made tea (just one cup) and settled into his chair. He hadn't sat there much recently, not since he and Sherlock got together, because he enjoyed it if Sherlock and he would cuddle together on the couch.  
"John, is there something wrong?" Oh like he didn't know.  
"I don't know Sherlock, is there?" he wouldn't give in _that_ easily. He didn't care if he was overreacting, it was a principle thing.  
"Well, you've been incredibly silent, you only made tea for yourself and you're sitting in your chair. Where I don't fit. I'd say there is." Sherlock said, obviously in detective mode.  
"Good, that answers your question, doesn't it? Well, I'm rather tired, so I'm going to bed." He gulped the last of his tea down and stood up, making his way to stairs leading to his room.

It didn't feel right to be in his own bed. Because it wasn't _his_ bed. He hadn't slept here for a couple of weeks only, but he started to think of Sherlock's bed as his own.  
His pondering was disturbed by the shrieking of the door.  
"John, I can't sleep. Our bed is too cold without you." Sherlock silently said, clearly disturbed.  
"No thank you, I'm fine. And you can go without sleep for a couple of nights, you've done so before."  
"John, please tell me what I've done. I've been thinking about it the entire time, but I can't wrap my head around it. Please, just tell me."  
Maybe it was because of the begging or maybe it was because Sherlock sounded so desperate or maybe it just was because John knew he wouldn't sleep in his bed and he had an early shift tomorrow, but he gave in, and made room for the detective to sneak in his bed.  
"Why didn't you tell me you wrote that article about us?" he asked eventually, not knowing how else to start.  
"I never told you about any of the articles I wrote, why should I've told you about this one?" Sherlock really didn't know that why it would upset John did he?  
"Well, I thought we were going to keep it quiet for a little while longer. Just the two of us, you know?" John took Sherlock's hand, to show him he wasn't angry anymore. It felt wonderful to feel Sherlock's long, slender fingers between his own. It always did.  
"Why would we do that?" Sherlock asked genuinely confused. "I want everybody to know that we're together" then he softly added "that you chose me."  
John was surprised. It wasn't like Sherlock to be as, sweet almost, as that. "Of course I chose you, there was never a question about it, but I would have liked it when we could go out for a date or just for dinner without people staring at us and posting all kind of things online."  
"Oh, that makes sense, I guess." Sherlock said, before he nested him against John.

"John?"  
"Mhh?" John replied, still half asleep  
"Why would people post about _our_ relationship?" Sherlock asked him, obviously confused as the reason why people would do that kind of thing.  
"I already told you we are an internet hype as the consulting detective and his little help, even before we gotten together. Back then they posted whether or not we were..."  
"But weren't!" Sherlock interrupted his explication.  
"Yes, but people thought we were" John tried to explain again.  
"That's just stupid," Sherlock said "It was obvious we weren't."  
"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but looking back we did act like a couple sometimes. We lived together, although I still don't find that a _good_ reason, we went out for dinner together more times than I can count, we worked together, whereby we spend most of our time together and still I liked you and you didn't find me boring. I can see how people got confused." John clarified, once again wondering why _they _hadn't noticed it sooner.  
"Yes, I can see that, but there was one point that would have given our status away immediately to anyone who would look."  
"Oh?" John wondered.  
"Me, pining after you and being jealous about all your dates." Sherlock said in a way that would sound indifferent to most people, but which John knew he used when he was opening himself up. He kissed Sherlock long and slowly.  
"Don't forget that I've been actively trying to seduce you for so many months."  
"Yes, that might have given it away too." Sherlock admitted. "But I still think you should have told me, we would have been together for an equality of months."  
"Why would know you could be so blind." John teased.  
"Why would know you could be so tongue-tied." Sherlock teased back.

Ant that is how our two boys lived. They fought when Sherlock was being a bastard and made up when he acted cute or seductive.  
At the Yard, people got used to the fact that they giggled and kissed at crime scenes.  
Mycroft had to remove all his camera's since it seemed that our boys love for each other wasn't restricted to the bedroom.

Live was good and so were they!

THE END!

**I hoped you all enjoyed it and don't forget to tell me how! Love liefdewint (I enjoy writing that, it's a little word joke. Any Dutch speaking or understanding people who get it?)**


End file.
